


But soft the tear of longing

by morrnrhu64



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bittersweet, Flirting, Gen, How Do I Tag, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Angst, Longing, M/M, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus - Freeform, Male Rogue Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus - Freeform, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Music, Pavelyan - Freeform, Pavus/Trevelyan, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Serenade, bard!inquisitor, but ONLY of an OC, i love music too much, i'm a mess and so is calum, light humour, my inquisitor is a bard, serenades are sweet, shameless use of folk music for my own purposes, with apologies to my ancestors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:36:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27627581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morrnrhu64/pseuds/morrnrhu64
Summary: Calum Trevelyan attempts to serenade Dorian. It does not go as planned.(M!Trevelyan/Dorian Pavus pre-slash, and also music.)
Relationships: Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Rogue Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Rogue Trevelyan/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	But soft the tear of longing

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to get back into writing, it's been a while but I just haven't felt up to it. so this is just a short wee thing, mostly about Calum, as an exercise to get the ideas going again. Takes place before Dorian's personal quest, and they've only been at Skyhold a short while. idk if anyone's terribly interested but if you like I could add the other version of the lute story which is slightly more detailed and therefore much sillier lol. the title is just another song reference bc I am trash for folk music, utter and complete rubbish, ha ha ~~the music inside jokes are just for myself now i guess, sorry if I'm not very funny but I haven't got my beta reader anymore~~ but anyway thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy it! :-) 

If there were anything that Calum Trevelyan, Dread Inquisitor hated about his new job--aside from the staring, the sneering, the grovelling, the gossip, the hours, the paperwork, the pageantry, the pressure, the dick-waving, the noble-coddling, the endless meetings, and the crushing responsibility for the lives of countless people, friend and stranger alike--it had to be the absolutely _ridiculous_ titles that people had started to lob at him. He was 'Lord Herald' this, 'Your Worship' that; he was 'inquisitor', of course, and 'my lord', though 'ser' and 'messere' were never far behind; and after a lifetime of being the third-place candidate for 'Lord Trevelyan', it really didn't sit well with him to bypass his brothers' claim on that title. 

Well, Eòghainn's claim, anyway. Fearghas had no use for titles now. 

The point being that Calum Trevelyan, the youngest child of a bann, had never expected to have so much value placed upon him, and quite frankly, he _loathed it._

Oh, being the centre of attention could be fun, certainly--Calum was never happier than when he entertained people with his favourite songs and tunes. He loved the connection he felt with them when he held the room spell-bound with a ballad, when his laments could bring tears to the eyes of the most stoic warriors, when the whole tavern sang along to a bawdy drinking song. It was his passion, more than picking locks or pockets, more than assembling little traps for Sera to prank visiting Orlesian nobles with, more than flirting with anyone who gave him half a second to talk.

The whole inquisition thing was sort of interfering with his lifestyle, to be honest. Instead of Calum the Wandering Bard (well... more or less), he was _'Lord Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, here to sow chaos and heresy or save the entire world, depending on who you ask'._

Quite the fucking mouthful, that.

At any rate, it meant he had to get a bit creative in order to find time for himself. Sera's rooftop was a fine place, for example, provided Sera herself were there to scare off any messengers; and in the stable loft were hay bales enough to construct a pretty good barrier to hide behind, which was quite cosy until Master Dennet sent up the stable hand with a pitchfork. Calum had needed a new coat after that. One memorable occasion found him in the dungeon, inside the cell furthest from the door--the sheer drop down was particularly thrilling, and Calum had hoped to compose something truly great with the inspiration; but in the end, he only managed to frighten Guard Blythe into accidentally locking him in for a good three and a half hours while she scurried round Skyhold looking for him, convinced she'd caught an assassin trying to escape the keep. (Probably for the best, really; Fearghas had always been the better poet.) 

At least he'd been able to have a nap uninterrupted that day. Small mercies.

Eventually, however, Calum had to admit defeat. They found him in the underkeep; they found him in the war room; they found him in the garden, in the courtyard, in the kitchen; they even found him in the rookery, despite the feathers strategically attached to his clothes in hopes of blending in. (One of the damned birds had squawked on him, he was sure of it.)

Which left him bored, distracted, and generally out of temper. Not even annoying Cassandra could cheer him up! It was a dark day in Skyhold, indeed.

Calum's listless wanderings eventually took him to the library, where he intended to stare forlornly at Helisma the tranquil, and maybe torture himself a bit by speaking to her--until his attention was called to a certain Mage From Tevinter, and what lay propped up against the wall by said mage's favourite chair.

'Is that a lute?' Calum asked, craning his neck mostly just for show. 'Is it yours?'

'Hello, inquisitor. Why, yes, I am doing well; how kind of you to ask! There, I volunteered the information to save you some time,' Dorian greeted him with humour in his eyes. 'And I see that your title is not a misnomer. You have, in fact, discovered a lute. As to its owner, I have no idea; it's been here for at least a month now.'

'I always get excited when I see musical instruments!' Calum defended himself. 'I can't help it--I'm a bard! Well, if it's not yours, then you won't mind if I borrow it, will you?'

'I suppose not. Though you may want to return it, in case its owner comes back.'

'I will, I will,' said Calum, already tuning the strings. 'Haven't played a lute since mine got smashed in Denerim. Now, _there_ was a fine tavern brawl. Dear old thing had been so good to me; broke a man's nose to save my life! Grand days, those. Any requests?'

Dorian scoffed. 'You tell half a story like that and expect me to let you change the subject? Come now, that's hardly sportsmanlike.'

'Not much else to tell, really,' said Calum. 'I was playing at the Pearl in exchange for a place to sleep the night, and one of the patrons didn't like how friendly his favourite lass got with me. To be fair, I probably shouldn't have made up a wee song about how ugly he was. But it was an honest mistake! Anyone might have made it.'

Dorian laughed, then, and it made Calum forget his troubles for just a moment.

'So, aye, he took issue with my teasing and tried to poke a few holes in my guts to let me know. I had to defend myself, naturally, but with nothing else on hand...' He gave an exaggerated shrug and shook his head.

'A most noble sacrifice,' said Dorian. 'You should write a song about it.'

'Maybe I will, at that! I'll call it _The Ballad of Tormod Ruadh_ \--Tormod Ruadh, of course, being the old lute's name. Perhaps if nobody comes for this one, I'll take it in, myself. It can be the second son of lute-dom.'

'Do I detect a note of bitterness in that speech?'

'More than just one, I hope, or else your tongue is nowhere near as refined as a noble lad's should be.'

'I assure you, my tongue is exceptionally refined and marvellously talented.'

Calum smirked at him. 'Really? But I never believe anything without first-hand experience.'

'Play your cards right,' Dorian said with an answering smirk, 'and you just might get some.'

'I am very good at cards,' Calum said thoughtfully, 'but I'm even _better_ at singing, and since I'm trying to impress you, it seems the more expedient choice. What will you hear, then? An aching ballad of a sea-going lover? A mournful lament about a treacherous beau? I've more songs than memories, good for any occasion. You need but name a feeling you wish to hear embodied,' Calum paused to strum the lute strings with a little flourish, 'and I'll make it so.'

Dorian laughed at him. 'You're ridiculous. Fine, then. Play something to make me sad.'

'I am your humble servant,' Calum replied modestly. He started to pick out a slow, tender air--one of love lost, of wistfulness, of bittersweet memories compared with bleak reality. One of his brother's favourites. He just... wanted to share it with Dorian, for some reason. Fearghas wouldn't have minded.

It was a strange thing. When he played, Calum felt as if the lute had become part of himself, an extension of his hands, and the song came to him as natural as breathing. As though he were a vessel for the music, he let the notes flow from his fingers, the words fall from his lips, without notice or care for anything or anyone around him. There was nothing in the world but love and longing and the gentle rasp of his callused fingertips against the strings, the vibration of his own voice in his chest, the brightness of the afternoon sun against his eyelids--for Calum rarely kept his eyes open when he sang, the better to let the music transport him to a place where he was not himself, but the singer, whoever the singer might be--a lonely fae lad, a deserted lover, a weary sailor or a worried mother or a valiant hero--

Calum was all of them, and none of them. The songs were his, and they were no one's--they belonged but were not owned, and in every note and every word there was joy and suffering and fear and courage and love and hope and despair and humanity. It was everything that mattered, distilled in sound--it was life, and it was beautiful.

As the last note echoed, Calum let his hand fall away from the lute to rest gently on his knee, and looked up at Dorian from his place on the cold stone floor. He was just in time to catch a glimpse of the soft expression that had transformed Dorian's handsome features into something more... fragile. Something delicate. 

They stared at one another for a moment, and Calum wondered if Dorian could hear his thunderous heartbeat--if Dorian could see, reflected in Calum's eyes, a similar loneliness to the one Dorian kept hidden away behind a sharp tongue and sarcastic smirk. But Calum could not bring himself to break the silence and ask.

Quite suddenly, Dorian cleared his throat and looked away. 'Well, you've certainly done your part, haven't you? That was--impossibly sad, and I find myself quite despondent now. Weak with despair, really--you'll forgive my lack of applause, but I haven't the strength to lift my hands.'

His voice was brittle as the prickly demeanour he wore crept up about his shoulders protectively, and he got up, blocking the light that filtered in through the window behind him.

'I dare say I'm quite overcome with it all--in fact, I don't think I'll make it to dinner! I'd better retire at once. But... thank you, inquisitor, for your... moving display. It was very masterfully done. Good day.'

Calum watched, confusion tugging the corners of his mouth downward, as Dorian all but fled the library as though a rage demon were at his heels. He slowly put the lute back where he'd found it. 

Perhaps taking it without permission had been a bad idea, after all.


End file.
